All I Wanna Say
by panicpeachpit
Summary: One-shot. Waiting is all the team can do when the worst happens. Ethan is haunted by good memories. Is it too late to tie up loose ends? And if it is, is he truly alone? Loosely based on spoilers and preview clips for 11.8.18, S33 E1.


**All I Wanna Say**

* * *

 _ **Sometime before the bullshit.**_

 _They're curled in the corner of the settee, fingers laced together. Tired heads rest upon heavy shoulders, rounded, a foot tapping absentmindedly, a thumb rubbing lazy circles round soft skin. Neither strikes up a conversation; their mutual silence speaks volumes in itself. If all they had to offer was love, they would give it all, bundled and gift-wrapped, without a word. They don't need to say it aloud, anyway. They stay tangled._

 _Before, they had been stood on sticky kitchen tiles, swaying with eachother. Half embracing, half falling. Hands carding through hair, trying to just breathe. Staying until it felt okay again. Sinking into the sofa afterwards. The served curry - his speciality - forgotten, left to congeal on the counter on porcelain plates, wine glasses abandoned._

 _They brought the wine. Well, she did, as he's trying to kick the habit. It digs into her side, so she drags it out. Glasses are overrated and likely to slip out of her loose grasp; so she resolves to drink from the neck. She tugs at the cork but his hands take it._

 _In replacement for the rim of the bottle, his lips press against hers. It's stiff, at first, tentative and shy. It is rare for him to initiate such delicate contact. They're uneasy momentarily. Then they relax. After, they sigh, foreheads pressed together. She knots her hands in his unbrushed tangles of sandy hair._

" _It's all better now," he says with utmost certainty - like the sky would begin to fall down and the pieces would bounce off of them. And so she tries to believe it._

* * *

A shattering of a coffee mug jerks him awake even more. A reminder that, yes, he's really awake right now, rudely awoken by a ringing phone, and he's more aware than ever that everything is breakable.

He steps through the shards on his tiled floor, grateful for thick shoe soles, and ignores the crunch. His car keys rest on the counter, phone resting between his shoulder and ear. Anxiety is in his hand tremors. He snatches up the keys, gripping them so intensely that indents are left in his fingers.

"I'm on my way, Charlie," he says, his voice a practised sharp knife through the messy panic of the nurse (usually so confident, he knows this is bad if it's cracking Charlie). "Give me ten."

* * *

" _-An ambulance has flipped on a dual carriageway only a half mile away from its destination…"_

Without needing to say anything, one of them switches it louder. They all sit, some cross-legged, others with stiff backs on the edge of the settee, untouched drinks on the table on top of unread magazines. They hadn't been listening to the obnoxious music before - how could they, when their family is in pain? How could they even try to numb this? - but then the news came in and they were glued.

" _...no casualties have been recorded as of yet, but those on the scene-"_

Someone sneezes. Everyone else glares.

" _...we're awaiting more news. If anybody has any information, please send it to-"_

The staff door opens. He abandons his coat on the hook. "Is anyone dead?" Ethan manages, halfway between a confident question and a frightened whisper.

They blink. Emotionless - or very emotional, streaked with worried tears - heads shake. Some look grateful for how frank he was, and some look pained at how he's speaking their worst fears into existence. And they get back to pretending to listen to the radio.

Ethan rests his elbows on the counter, then gives up and sinks down. They're a mess of blue scrubs, some wearing crumpled and unmatching day clothes from too fast dressing. Someone's shoes are on the wrong feet. Ethan lets his legs go numb on the floor, and they sit.

Eventually, Rash speaks. This is his first disaster - he hasn't seen this before, not when this sort of incident takes ahold of the ED like a serpent's vice-like grip. He's new, frightened, and in need of guidance.

"What can we do?" he croaks out. And nobody replies.

No-one else had asked that. They've all experienced this before, and they know that all they can do is to simply wait. That's the worst part.

Eventually, the radio reels off some names. Everyone knew anyway who was missing. But it only worsens their worry. Iain, Ruby and Alicia are all listed somberly by the flustered reporter. It feels like they have to prepare for a premature loss. Ethan thinks on them all sadly.

Iain. Brave and honest. Gutsy; he'd sacrifice his life just so somebody could have a limb saved.

Ruby. New and skittish. Unsure of the right choice, driven by rulebooks, but with a heart that just wants to help. A person with so much left to learn.

And Alicia. Ethan sucks in a breath, resting his head against the staff room unit. He wouldn't know where to start. It's been a rollercoaster.

* * *

" _Look at you," her smile is bright, like sunlit honey, and her finger lifts his chin. It's childish and tender and he grins, soppy enough to turn a stomach. The sunset leaks through the curtains, he falls more in love, and she continues with, "you're a mess. My mess."_

Ethan drags his knees to his chest. It's childish. After attempting to leave in the ambulance, but being stopped by Connie, he feels like a miniature strop is necessary. He is left to wait. He can't go to her side. He can't do anything besides be useless.

Patients have seemingly come to a standstill. They've diverted to St James', due to an oncoming influx of predicted casualties following that ambulance crash, and there is nothing left to do. Unaffected agency staff take the brunt of their usual duties.

The kettle finishes boiling. Robyn stands above Ethan, Charlotte grasping her ankles. Cautiously she dumps spoonfuls of white sugar into mugs. Her hand is shaking.

"Charlotte," she scolds. "Hang on, I need to pour this."

Wordlessly, Ethan scoops Charlotte up onto his lap, relaxing his knees. Robyn sends him a look, similar to appreciation, ruined by worry, and continues the task. Charlotte rests on his chest. Ethan smiles down at her, stroking her blonde curls.

" _You want kids one day?"_

" _We're barely older than kids ourselves," she laughs, and coos at the baby below them. "Hey, is that a hint, doctor?"_

 _His cheeks flush. "I, n-no, I was-"_

" _Teasing. Relax!"_

Charlotte is pulled from his grasp, replaced with a mug of coffee. It's too sugary for his liking, a pale brown showing a huge spill of milk as opposed to the usual _glug_ of milk he favours. Out of politeness, he sips. It's cold.

* * *

Some have started to pace the floor. If the carpet could wear out from this action, it would have by now. Ethan watches as knees jog, as fingers tap against surfaces. He chews his lip again.

" _You need to stop doing that," gently, she wraps her arms around his waist. "Don't forget, it'll hurt if you have any lemon."_

" _Yes, because I'm so partial to sucking whole lemons," Ethan mutters, chewing his lip, stiff-bodied in her grip. She tightens, and he stops somehow. They stand still, and he tastes blood, but feels cared for._

No news comes to the surface. The radio remains dormant, and they're all being driven insane for the same songs that seem to keep repeating excessively. Adverts worm their way between, but nobody is thinking about driving lessons or PPI. It may as well be blank noise.

* * *

It's three AM, according to his wristwatch. Everyone seems even more tired when he informs them. Ethan is given a space on the sofa, sandwiched between Elle and Charlie, and someone has a turn on the floor. It's barely a change. He can't find it in him to appreciate it.

He rests, hardly noticing he's pushing so much weight against Charlie. Vaguely, he's seeing blackness, with the occasional light, a pacing colleague, and the edges are blurry. His eyelids burn. Ethan feels his head tip forward, but it's like he's watching himself.

"Woah, woah."

He feels Charlie's arms on him. It's an immediate wake-up call. He's saved from face planting the coffee table before him, fortunately, and rests against the sofa again.

His watch reads five minutes past three in the morning.

* * *

"This is ridiculous."

And, finally, somebody speaks what they're all speaking. Jacob. Words rough, fists clenched.

"They should be back by now," Jacob snaps. "What's going on? Why is nobody saying a thing? We must be able to help, but instead, we're cooped in here, waiting."

Charlie intervenes. Saint Charlie, offering advice, despite his incessant worrying face, and stopping people from face-planting furniture.

"What matters is that we're here. Supporting eachother, being on standby. I understand it feels like we've been here forever."

"There must be something we can do," Rash mutters. They all nod.

"There is," Charlie says, and he eyes the kettle. "We can make more drinks, sit, and wait until we're needed. And when we are, we work as a unit. We do our jobs and we save lives. That's what we do."

* * *

They sit, clasping semi warm cups of drink, curls of smoke in the air. Ethan thinks of explosions, how the smoke of their drinks looks like a tamer version of deadlier smoke. When cars crash, it's all too common for something to go up in flames. He shivers inside his shirt.

"Never have I ever… eaten a worm."

"Getting transported back to primary school right now," Jacob mutters in response to Robyn. Regardless, he drinks. Many do too - the others all cringe.

"Never have I ever crashed my car," Charlie says. "There we go, Jacob. That was a grown-up one."

Most drink. Ethan does too - technically, the minivan accident of 2014 counts, even if the blame rests mainly on the idiotic elderly who t-boned the vehicle. Additionally, he's hit a couple lightposts. Cal was a bad driving teacher.

"Never have I ever kissed my boss," Robyn smirks, and Jacob groans. He drinks. Ethan drinks too, shyly, and everyone descends into laughter.

Robyn laughs so hard that it disturbs a sleeping Charlotte. "When? _What_?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Ethan mutters, shaking his head. He's smiling. Everyone is - it feels good to have something to grin about.

Duffy chimes in, soothing the laughter because Ethan is absolutely tomato coloured. "Alright, alright, next one, you bullies - never have I ever walked into a wall."

Everyone drinks. "I'm sure everyone has done that," Robyn says. "I broke my nose doing it once."

Jacob asks a few more, then Charlie goes for an awfully old-fashioned one ( "never have I ever got tangled in the telephone cord") that makes everyone groan. Duffy is asking the next one when suddenly someone turns the radio up louder. It crackles to life.

" _-multiple casualties have been confirmed following an explosion. Those alive are being taken to hospital. We'll give more information when we have it."_

* * *

It's a horrible game of Guess Who. They're all left wondering, with no names to put to the outcomes. All they know is that it ends badly for many. That's not enough.

They're being ushered to Admin, waiting for the red phone to give information. Most wait in the sancturary of the staff room. Ethan ventures out. He's drowned by his Holby City Hoodie, over his jeans, his palms wet with sweat. He's hot and cold. Scared and relieved; frightened to know, thankful that they're not entirely in the dark anymore.

In the distance, two trollies are being pushed down the corrdors. White sheets cover them. Ethan awatches, unable to stop.

Ethan can't stop the words coming out. "Who is it? Who's dead?"

Connie shouts. "Dr Hardy, make yourself useful - resus, now!"

Ethan breaks into a run. His legs are weak from sitting, unused to the strenuous activity of a simple jog. He's halfway to the doors before they buckle. He spots a wisp of blond hair, a bloodied hand, from underneath the cursed white sheet, and they give in entirely. His hands flail. He saves himself by grasping the edge of the desk - but his arms are weak, and he hits it. He tastes metal. He should've just stayed in the staff room. Black nothingness greets him.

* * *

Vaguely, his head throbs, and he can hear murmuring voices. He's walking, and he's not downstairs anymore. Whiteness is everywhere, glistening and gleaming. It glows. The familiar smell of antiseptic and sound of rubber soles against the ground reminds him that this is reality.

He drags out a chair. Collapsing into it, his eyes fall upon the person he has visited in a ward. Knotted blonde hair. Twisted around their neck, fists gently open, white sheets covering them. An oxygen mask rests on their mouth. Monitors beep steadily.

"Alicia," he says.

She doesn't respond. His fingers interlock hers, unresponsive. A twitch runs through her arm. Her chest rises and falls.

"Alicia," he says again. "Oh, look at you."

There's grazes all over her. Her arm is stitched, her forehead is coveed with superficial lacerations, and the dull ash from fire still covers her, unwashed. She needs a washcloth. Ethan gently wipes a strip of dirt from her nose. His other hand stays in hers.

"I suppose I wanted to tie up loose ends," he manages. "I never liked it when you were mad at me. It's you and I against the world. Not us against eachother." He watches her unchanging heartbeat. "I prefer it that way."

Disullusioned, he continues. "It's hard to tie loose ends if you're not going to speak back, though," he breathes through a bout of almost-tears. "Alicia, come on. You know I don't look pretty when I cry."

Vaguely, he feels a brushing against his hand. It's slight. But it's something. She squeezes.

"Hey, 'licha. You're alright. I'm here."

Her blue eyes meet his. Theyre watery, unseeing, but eventually, they focus. Ethan strokes her hand. Somehow, he manages a smile. Her eyes, they smile too, and it gives him all the strength he needs.

A hand rests on Ethan's shoulder.

"It'll be alright," Cal soothes from behind him. His voice sounds soft.

Ethan snaps his head round. "What? Cal?"

"Look at you both," Cal smiles, almost cooing. His eyes watch their intertwined hands. "I never should've intervened. Both of you should've lasted, eh?"

He tastes blood when he sees the stain on his brother's chest. Ethan hides his head in the crook of his arm. He can't see. He doesn't want to see.

His shoulder is being rubbed in careful circles. "Wake up, Ethan. Wake up."

* * *

Ethan finds himself amongst a huddle. Familiar dark blue scrubs are against his day clothes, and there's a calloused hand running his shoulder. Ethan notices blood on the palm of his own hand.

When he creases his forehead, it hurts. He must've hit it. He remembers he did. Ethan shivers into Charlie.

"Alicia?"

Charlie grips Ethan tighter, on the floor against the desk. "It's alright. You're alright."

There's a strange sort of howling noise coming from somewhere. It almost echoes. Ethan creases his forehead, even thouh it hurts, rewarded by a drip of blood down his eyebrow onto his lip. He's confused. It sounds like a keening, almost. A wounded animal. There's many noises similiar. They're hurting his ears. He watches the floor, reflecting passing medics with somber expressions.

"I-I'm needed in resus," Ethan manages.

"No, you're not. Elle went."

"Charlie, w-what's going on?"

Charlie doesn't answer. Ethan cranes his neck, a huddle of adults nearer the resus door. Elle is holding Jacob's shoulders, talking carefully to him. The howling continues.

It's _crying_. People are crying.

Ethan pulls himself up, his hand rubbing the wound. It stings. Through a gap of his colleagues, he can see a familiar body inside of resus. Many. His heart lurches. There's fresh white sheets going over them.

Robyn comes to his side. Her face is pale. She looks ill. Charlotte clings to her.

And then he knows. From the emotion in her eyes, he knows.

"Alicia didn't make it out. Sam died trying to save her. And Iain… he's okay, but… he's really hurt."

Ethan rests the palm of his hand, smudged with blood, onto the resus glass door. He stares, unable to stop.

It's over.

* * *

Later, when Ethan is alone, he cleans up the smashed glass on his tiles. Everything is so breakable. It could fall apart immediately. And it has. One push, one wrong movement, and it smashes. Dominos - one action could topple everything.

He cries heartbrokenly into the sofa cushion. He's alone, and he's never felt so helpless. Loose ends, left untied, they're strangling him. They're ruthless. His throat aches and his eyes burn.

A knock at his flat door disturbs him.

When he's suitably mopped from tears, he pulls it open. The people there give him gentle, compassionate smiles, and he falls apart again. From care. From knowing that they wouldn't just let him go, after he ran home without a word, too scared to show anyone he was hurting. Too scared to let them know he's so breakable. Even though everyone is. He was idiotic for thinking he was alone. They're in this together.

Robyn pulls him into her. "Nobody should be alone. We chose your place as the falling apart station." They part, and he locks the door back up with tear-stained palms.

They're broken apart for now. But as a team, they'll wait it out, on his squashy sofa, on the crumb-infected rug. Surely, they will be alright. One day. The dust will settle.

* * *

 _ **Again, sometime before the bullshit.**_

" _But what if it isn't alright?"_

 _One day, she explodes it out. A grinding of teeth, alongside the slapping of her coat hitting the floor. Lips pursed. He turns, an expression not dissimilar to one of a squirrel. He's shocked. Guilt settles, and she wonders if she's hurt him, but his face changes._

 _Slowly, he walks to her, and she realises the fragility of the action. He is careful and loving and takes her hands like they're worth more than mounds of solid gold. Somehow, he understands, and links the outburst to a previous conversation. Maybe it's been playing on his mind just as much as it has been on hers._

" _Then I'll be with you."_

 _She swallows back a pebble in her throat. It aches her whole neck, constricted by tight emotion. "And if you're not? What then?"_

" _I don't know. Get through it yourself - good God, Alicia, it isn't as though you haven't before."_

 _Unable to talk, her eyes focus on a mural ahead. Bad omens are coming, she knows it. They've only just reconciled since the blog fiasco and his sudden resignation had been a second bombshell. She's frightened of what the future brings. Are they both in it?_

 _Then, strongly, like he means it, he looks at her and he says, "You'll be fine." And she believes him._


End file.
